Israel Daramola

I should be more excited about Halloween. I really should. At 23, I’m still young enough to anticipate an excuse to dress ridiculous, drink, steal candy from unsuspecting children and hit on the one girl dressed as the sexy ventriloquist (or maybe one of the hundred sexy cats walking around). The truth is: I just don’t care anymore about this day anymore. You would think that after growing up never going trick or treating—well, maybe twice—I would live for this holiday once I got to college, but the opposite happened. Halloween came to be a reminder of not having enough good memories from childhood and a reminder that I’m always too broke to get a costume, so as a result I just stopped caring. I try to have a good time on this holiday but… meh, who gives a shit, just hand me candy already. I mean it’s cool for kids who go trick or treating from door to door but as an adult, unless you’re spending the night with good friends, you’re stuck going to bars and parties on what might be the douchiest night of the year. A night where alcohol, costumes and debauchery are used as excuses to out asshole each other, all in the name of having a “good time” and hooking up with sexy Dora The Explorer. Frankly I can do without it, I don’t need an excuse to drink and I’m not interested in almost getting into a fight with someone’s drunk bro just because I was staring at his girlfriend’s sexy hippopotamus costume a little bit too long; not to mention, I’m not looking to answer the “where’s your costume” question 50 million times in one night. Maybe, if I was in a relationship, I’d be willing to do the couple thing and be the Sherman to her sexy Mr. Peabody but until that day comes I’m just not interested in going out on this night. However, if you’re in DC, keep an eye out and you might see me circulating the streets. I’ll be in my sexy nuclear physicist costume, or maybe I’ll just pull an Adam Sandler move throughout the night.